The Hunger Games: Broken Arrows
by ohmyklaine
Summary: A The Hunger Games/Glee X-over. It's the 25th Hunger Games, marking this the 1st Quarter Quell, and a cruel twist shakes the nation of Panem to the core. Brittana, Klaine, Faberry, Neff.
1. Fatal Morning, Part One

**Title: The Hunger Games - Broken Arrows  
>Author: ohmyklaine<br>Chapter: 1/?  
>Summary: A The Hunger GamesGlee crossover. Following the destruction of modern society, a terrifying reality TV Show is taking place. 24 teenagers are sent to an arena in a Gladiator-style survival Game. There is only one rule: Kill or be killed. It's the 25th Hunger Games, marking this the 1st Quarter Quell, and a cruel twist shakes the nation of Panem to the core.  
>Ships: Brittana, Klaine, Faberry, Neff.<br>Main Characters: Brittany, Santana, Nick, Jeff, Kurt, Blaine, Puck, Finn, Rachel, Quinn.  
>Do I Need To Have Read The Hunger Games To Understand?: No.<br>**

**One**

District 1:_  
>Santana.<em>

"I don't know who is favourite to be chosen, Santana, but myself and your mother have voted for you, and you can still volunteer even if you don't…"

I choose to tune out my fathers impending speech about 'making the family proud' and 'bringing it home for our district'. Although I've been trained all my life for the Games, I'm not sure I want it like this.

I wander over to the mirror, and pull my long, black hair into a high ponytail with an elastic band, making absolutely sure it's as straight and tight as it'll go. Appearances are important, and if I end up on my way to the Capitol today, I want to be looking my best - whilst also giving off the allusion that I'm a ruthless, fierce, born fighter who wont take shit from anybody.

Of course, that's what I am. I'm also my parents last hope of having a tribute and, potentially, a victor in the family. My older siblings reached past eighteen years without their name being pulled out at the Reaping. And because they've always had me to fall back on, my father didnt push them into volunteering.

But my sister, Liadan, turned nineteen two months back, which means it's my duty. I don't know if my father pushing me into being the female District One tribute is a by-product of his faith in me that I'll win, or him saying the Lopez family potentially having a victor as a daughter is worth the risk of me being ruthlesly, sloppily killed by another teenager for entertainment,

"Gosh, Santana, when did you get so pessimistic?" I mutter to myself, outlining my eyes with a black kohl pencil. I honestly pity people living in poorer Districts, do they even have this stuff out in 12? I'm assuming not, anyway, since the only stuff they have on their faces when they show themselves on the live broadcast of the Reaping is soot and dust, due to the fact they're a coal mining District.

"Are you ready yet?" my mothers shrill voice sounds from the hallway. Father has stopped talking at this stage, and looks at me. I'm not sure what that expression is - the only way I can describe it is, him thinking _You better not embarrass me out there._

There really is no avoiding it this year. I'm seventeen, the age at which I agreed to volunteer if I hadnt been chosen prior.

It's the 25th Hunger Games, the first Quarter Quell, and I'm going to be a tribute.

_Puck._

"But Nowah, pwease don't… don't leave me."

I stare down into my little sisters wide, green eyes, and I try to keep my face from faltering as I see them fill with tears. "I'm not going anywhere. We're going out, and then we're all coming home together, and I'm going to cook you your favourite rice, to celebrate."

It breaks my heart to lie to her like this, but she's only four years old, she knows nothing solid about the Games. My mom shields her eyes from the televised events, and sometimes I think she's glad she has Gracine to protect from them. That way, she doesnt have to look, either.

Of course, my dad thinks it's rediculous carry on - he actually freaking complains about mom's apparent 'weakness' when it comes to this time of year, and is also of the opinion Gracie should be educated early, because wouldn't that give her an advantage once she's eligible to be a tribute?

How do you explain The Hunger Games to a four year old? I would often muse over this question, in case he was ever given the unfortunate task of telling her. _24 people between twelve and eighteen are sent to the big city to play a game in a big arena where they all kill each other until there's only one left standing. _Somehow, this seems a little blunt.

Every Friday, dad takes me out to a field at the back of our District, and teaches me skills.

Killing skills.

He teaches me how to kill people.

That's what he calls bonding time.

I'm not a whimp. Let me make that clear. Actually, I think I am the perfect male tribute for our district, especially for the Quarter Quell. I fully intend on volunteering in the unlikely event I'm not voted for. But… when I look into my little sisters eyes? That's when I break down. Just don't tell anyone that.

District 2:_  
>Quinn.<em>

I make my way down to our towns centre with an actual spring in my step. This is it. I've been training all my life for this. I'm seventeen years old now, which means it's my last chance to bring back a victory for my District - for my family. And what better way to do it than in the first _Quarter Quell_? It's like fate. I can see it now… last tribute standing. The cheers as I make my way back to District Two… the Victory Tour… being a mentor at future Games… passing my own wisdom down to the next generation of tributes… That's my future. It's my goal.

The twist to this years Games is that, instead of the names of a male and female being drawn at random, the District's people get to choose who competes. Some may be troubled by this, but personally, I'm very glad, it gives me a better chance - actually, it kind of guarantees it - and since I know I'm going to win, why worry? Nobody in that arena is going to be more skilled with a knife than me, nobody is going to be able to match my aim, my determination and my drive.

My father is, of course, very proud of me - my sister is the last victor District Two has had, three years ago… and now I'm going to be following in Frannie's footsteps. Mummy might not be as thrilled about it as he and I are - she went through enough worry with Fran, I suppose, but there is really no need for concern, as I've tried to explain many times before.

I'm ready. With a deep breath, and a look to Daddy for support, I step forward to sign in with a Peacekeeper.

District 5:_  
>Nick<em>

"No, Mom, honestly, it's fine, I'm not five, I can fix my own tie." I sigh at her, batting her hands away and pull at the thin fabric around my collar.

"If that's so, it wouldn't be messed up in the first place!"

I shoot her a look of clear annoyance. How she expects me to keep my hands steady today of all days is beyond me. Heck, even she broke a mug this morning, she was shaking so much! Although, I highly doubt she was worried about me. I'm not exactly likely to be chosen for the games this year. No, the reason the house has been so tense this week is because Fredrick, my brother, turned twelve this year, and… well, my District doesn't really… approve of him? Basically, they don't treat him like a human being on a normal basis, so chances are they probably will have considered him as a tribute for the Quarter Quell.

I stand up for him every day. I don't take any shit - and I certainly don't let him, either. So he's _slow_. That's not a reason for people to think he's of no use, that he's just occupying space. I kick the leg of an empty chair beside me, the unintentional force knocking it to the ground.

"Nick," Mom warns, rushing over to pick it up. "Not today. We aren't having it today."

It's the biggest load of hypocritical bullshit I've ever heard. I have anger issues. Fred has a learning disability. Shouldn't I be the logical person out of the two of us to be chosen for the Games?

"Are you ready yet?"

"No, Mom. I'm waiting for Jeff. We're going to the centre with him and his family, remember?"

I see a small smile play upon her lips. "You two are going strong, arent you?"

"Not if I get sent to the arena tonight." I throw back this sarcastic response, but, despite everything, I cant help it. I grin at the thought of my best friend of six years, boyfriend of six months. Because Jeff, truly, is the most important person in my life.

_Jeff_

I'm ahead of my parents on the way to Nick's house. Mainly, I want to avoid their worried glances, and even more disturbed ones over the fact I've forced them into spending this day with my boyfriends family. Since I got together with him, I'd quickly experienced the difference between tolerance and acceptance. Tolerance is my Mom and Dad, Acceptance is Nick's Mom and brother.

Still, it wont stop me from trying to change that every opportunity I get. Even Reaping days.

I reach the door of House 14, and knock upon the wood eagerly. Obviously, they know it's me, by my trademark three-quick-taps, because I'm only standing there a moment before it flies open and Nick launches himself into my arms.

"Babe, you just knocked the wind out of me," I chuckle, nuzzling his neck when he, in response, just tightens his grip upon me. I'm used to his enthusiastic greetings, and to be honest I wouldn't have it any other way, even if it did mean my Dad clearing his throat uncomfortably behind us.

"Are you scared?" Nick whisperes to me as he pulls out of the embrace, letting his hands rest loosely on my waist.

"For you." I admit, brushing a stray strand of his dark, wavy hair our of his eyes. "It'll be okay, Nicky."

He nods, and I notice that he's starting to tremble. I know what this means, so I quickly place my hands on top of his, and pull him inside. "The last thing we need is you freaking out, dude." I raise my eyebrows at him. Humour usually works. "The anger would be great in the arena, save it for that."

"You're terrible." he groans back at me, punching my shoulder, luckily only lightly. "Are you… all set?"

I look back at my parents, and nod. "Yup."

**Next Time on The Hunger Games - Broken Arrows: The remaining Districts prepare for the Reaping.**


	2. Fatal Morning, Part Two

**Title: The Hunger Games - Broken Arrows  
>Author: ohmyklaine<br>Chapter: 2/?  
>Summary: A The Hunger GamesGlee crossover. Following the destruction of modern society, a terrifying reality TV Show is taking place. 24 teenagers are sent to an arena in a Gladiator-style survival Game. There is only one rule: Kill or be killed. It's the 25th Hunger Games, marking this the 1st Quarter Quell, and a cruel twist shakes the nation of Panem to the core.  
>Ships: Brittana, Klaine, Faberry, Neff.<br>Main Characters: Brittany, Santana, Nick, Jeff, Kurt, Blaine, Puck, Finn, Rachel, Quinn.  
>Do I Need To Have Read The Hunger Games To Understand?: No.<strong>

_Author's Note: Thank you so much for the comments and subs, it means an awful lot to me. I didn't expect this story to get any atention whatsoever, I write it purely because I'm a sadistic type of writer who pairs angst and fluff to break the hearts of my characters (and y'know, me.)__ Also, Chapters will get longer, I just don't really want to drag them out too much, especially when this is just setting up characters and relationships and goals. _**  
><strong>

**Two**

District 6:_  
>Blaine.<em>

Just because it's the day of the Reaping, doesn't mean the work stops for my family. Our District is in charge of Medicine (amongst other drugs), and people don't just miraculously recover for this event. _Although some must wish they would_, I think. After all, if they had to choose who was going into the arena, wouldn't they be more likely to go for the sick? _No hard feelings, you were gonna die anyway? _I'm terribly bitter, I realize, and smirk to myself. Who wouldn't be?

There's a very slim chance of me being chosen for the games this year. There's an epidemic of some string of pneumonia in the area, and I'm a valued medical apprentice. My Dad does surgery and pharmaceuticals, whilst Mom flits between nursing, being a carer, writing health pamphlets, and a counsellor. Why she would choose to listen to the whole of District Six's problems alludes me, but since she couldn't save my brother from his 'sadness'… whatever helps her sleep at night.

But all in all, we aren't too worried about this afternoon. Even my younger sister just received a coveted nursing apprenticeship, the District wouldn't dream of volunteering a girl with a skill like she has.

The only thing that makes me slightly uncomfortable is the fact that… well, our community is very tight-knit. We're surely going to have figured out a random system.

_May the odds be ever in your favour. _

District 8:_  
>Kurt.<em>

"Dad… no, stop it, Dad, that looks _ridiculous_," I sigh at my ever-fashion-resistant father and shove a crisp, white shirt at him. "Corduroy is out, how many times do I have to tell you that?"

Honestly, you'd think living in a District that was responsible for textiles would have taught him something over the years. It's like talking to a brick wall. But, secretly, I'm kind of glad he's so clueless, because a clothing related rant is definitely something - possibly the only thing - that will take my mind off the reaping.

In previous years, I was able to get by with comforting thoughts of mathematics and the odds of me being chosen - a knowledge of probability really helped to calm my nerves. But this was different. This was the Quarter Quell. This year, the Districts has to choose participants.

And this year, District 8 isn't particularly fond of me.

It's my own fault. I… I came out. I didn't mean to, by any means, I was perfectly happy (maybe that isn't the right word, but let's go with it) keeping my feelings to myself. And when people started suspecting… maybe I didn't try to deny it. I didn't think they'd particularly care, but… then they started shutting me out in school, ignoring me at the markets, making snide remarks on the streets… here, it's not the way it is in the Capitol, or in the Districts closer to it, hell, even five is progressive enough in comparison to here. Hate to see how being gay is handled in twelve. The Peacekeepers would probably publicly execute you.

District 11:_  
>Rachel.<em>

There's not much to say on days like today. The Reaping is in a few short hours. Of course, it's 4am and I should definitely be sleeping, but somehow I can't seem to nod off. Neither can anybody else in the house, but the silence says enough, conversation thrown in would just be piercing.

We're usually nervous, but this year is different. It's the 25th Hunger Games, the first Quarter Quell, which means no ordinary Reaping. Nope. It's going to be far, far worse.

"I hate this," a small voice pipes up from the foot of my bed. I look at my cousin, and it simply breaks my heart to see the little girls eyes full of fear and confusion. Jemma just turned twelve two days ago. In Panem, that is not a birthday one celebrates.

"I hate it, too," is the only response I can muster, because what else is there to say? She knows all about the Games from History lessons at school. All about the destruction of what was once North America, and how it became the Nation of Panem, all about the rebellion and the Dark Days and how The Hunger Games are a punishment.

But no amount of study can begin to explain how on earth this is fair. How this can be allowed. How twenty four teenagers can be sent to the Capitol for the sole purpose of killing each other… for _entertainment_. Twenty-four teenagers let loose in the wild, murdering each other. For. _Entertainment_. In my opinion, that is not amusing. That is not _entertainment_.

Usually, the tributes are chosen at random, but this year, the cruel twist means the District itself has to decide which two kids - male or female, it doesn't matter - to send away to become tributes.

The thought makes me sick to my stomach. I didn't eat last night, giving my cousin my portion, because she really needs her strength, and sat in silence.

Daylight is starting to break. We have to be up in a couple of hours. "Go to bed, Jem. Let's try get some sleep."

Good luck, I add in my mind, grimly.

District 12:_  
>Brittany.<em>

I'm happy when I wake up this morning. The sun is shining down on me from the gap in our thin, grey curtains. "It's going to be such a pretty day!" I announce, as I swing off my bed, let my bare feet touch the ground (although my Mom is always telling me to wear socks around the house, because the floor is dirty - but then my pink ones made me slip in the kitchen, so I don't trust them) and softly pad out into the living area.

"Morning, Brittany," Dad says, wiping his tired looking eyes, plastering a bright smile on his face. He has a day off work today, because of the special event. "Did you sleep well?"

"I was warm. Lord Tubbington was scared, so I let him sleep with me."

I see my parents exchange looks. I think it's concern in their eyes. I don't blame them; I was worried for my cat too. He's lost weight, so I'm going to have to split my goats cheese with him next time. "What time are we going out?"

"Same time as every year, Britt. Noon. You best get ready, we're expecting your friend Finn and his Mom in a while."

"Finn!" I'm delighted when I'm reminded of this. Finn Hudson is one of my best friends in our District. I have other friends, too, but none others from the Seam, which is the area in which I live. We met at school, we were paired up for a History project and became very close. Even Lord Tubbington likes him, because they look alike.

While everyone else worries about the Games, we're just happy being ourselves. Especially this year. Like Finn explained to me, our people choose who goes to the big city because it's a special round. And they're our friends, why would our friends want us to be killed?

Besides, don't tell him I said this, but Finn is really clumsy, and we totally won't win if they send someone who cant even throw his Laundry into the right hole from three metres away.

_Finn._

I'm going to be really late. Why does this always happen to me? Ever since the first day of school when I got lost and actually tried to walk into the coal mining station to start math class, ending up being led away by a Peacekeeper and missing half of my lessons, I haven't had a knack for punctuality.

"We're supposed to meet Brittany before the Reaping, and you still aren't dressed!"

My Mom's stressing. I don't blame her. After Dad dying in that coal mining accident, she doesn't need the added scare of me being sent to the arena. Having a dead son isn't on the top of her list.

I know that sounds really insensitive and, well, blunt, but, I'm serious, she actually said that once. This time last year. "Finn, please, having a dead son as well is not on top of my list." I think she may have been tipsy on that strange concoction she sometimes buys from the Hob (the black market where we buy most of our food cheaply) on special occasions. Or sad ones. Like the whole three weeks after Dad died. That was when I met Brittany, actually. I was kinda having a hard time in class paying attention, and she was paying attention but didn't get it, so we just kind of bonded over our academic inefficiencies.

Yeah, Brittany. I really should get to her house. The Reaping is soon. I think I was meant to met her at nine, and now it's 10:30.

My bad.

**Next Time on The Hunger Games - Broken Arrows, the Districts assemble in their town centres and find out which teenagers will be sent to the Capitol that day. Tears, nerves, fear, and pride are just some of the sparks flying throughout Panem. **


	3. Reaping: District Five

**Title: The Hunger Games - Broken Arrows  
>Author: ohmyklaine<br>Chapter: 3/?  
>Summary: A The Hunger GamesGlee crossover. Following the destruction of modern society, a terrifying reality TV Show is taking place. 24 teenagers are sent to an arena in a Gladiator-style survival Game. There is only one rule: Kill or be killed. It's the 25th Hunger Games, marking this the 1st Quarter Quell, and a cruel twist shakes the nation of Panem to the core.  
>Ships: Brittana, Klaine, Faberry, Neff.<br>Main Characters: Brittany, Santana, Nick, Jeff, Kurt, Blaine, Puck, Finn, Rachel, Quinn.  
>Do I Need To Have Read The Hunger Games To Understand?: No.<strong>

_Authors Note: Again, I am abundantly grateful for all the positive reviews, messages, etc. It really helps me produce these chapters more quickly. :) I was going to like, for the next few chapters, do the Reaping of 2-3 Districts at a __time but, clearly, my bias towards Nick and Jeff is showing in this, hence why I thought best to seperate XD (Neff OTP tho.)_**  
><strong>

**Three**

The Reaping.

District Five:_  
>Nick.<em>

There's no use even attempting to hide my fear at this point. My legs have been shaking for the majority of the walk into the town centre, and I could barely speak up when signing in with the Peacekeepers - Jeff had actually had to clarify what I'd said.

"It'll be okay," he reassures, giving my hand a squeeze. He always tries to put on a brave face for me, protect me, but his sweaty palms suggest that he's just as scared as I am. Ordinarily, I'd point this out to him, but this doesn't feel like the time nor place for that. I just look up at him, and attempt a small smile.

"Yeah. We'll be fine."

"Come on!" my Mom calls, from a few metres away, clutching Fred's arm quite obviously so hard I'm surprised it hasn't fallen off yet. Jeff's parents are also with them, not showing any emotions that I can read - but, that's typical of them.

"It's about to start." I gulp, scanning the large crowd of people here, all just as apprehensive as we are. Now, I don't know who I'm most fearful for. Instinctively, of course, it's Jeff. Then I remember that Fredrick is twelve now. And then there are the people from school, from the market, from the trade and from choir… whilst I wouldn't class many of them as friends (not many people are lining up at my door to be my best bud, trust me), they're acquaintances, people I would still flinch to see killed live on television.

Phipha Mollins, our district's escort, is tapping on a microphone, up on the large stage that has been set up. She's a strange woman if I've ever seen one. Must be taking fashion advice from the people in the Capitol, with their dyed skin, whiskers, and big hair. Thankfully, her accent is understandable - even if she does try to make her voice sound high-pitched. "District Five! Welcome to the official first day of the 25th Hunger Games. Send your name, show your pride!"

"Worst slogan ever."

I have to laugh as Jeff mutters this in my ear. For one, he's hissing at the s's, clearly mocking poor Phipha and her beloved Capitol people, and two, he says it every year. Humour is the only thing that keeps us halfway sane at this time of year, and we don't dare think what would happen if we try to take things seriously.

Plus, he's right. Send your name, show your pride. Who came up with that? It refers to the tessara. Basically, it gives a person eligible for the Games the chance to enter their names more than once, in exchange for a meagre supply of grain and oil. Apparently it shows 'pride' for your District in wanting to be the one chosen for the Games, rather than that we're all starving and need as much food as we can scrape together.

Really, a pointless slogan, considering there's no paper slips with your name written on them this year. Random selection means no tesserae. We get by, thank god, as we're a relatively richer District. We don't rely on it like Eleven and Twelve must.

"You, the residents of District Five," Phipha is speaking again. "Have chosen the tributes you would like to compete in the first Quarter Quell." her eyes are sparkling with excitement. It's sick. "You have chosen two male tributes! How unusual, but of course, not against the rules this year."

I glace at Jeff again. He's keeping a straight face, but the corner of his mouth his quivering. This makes me all the more uneasy, but I can't just think about myself right now. I stand up on the tips of my toes, so that my mouth his level with his ear, and whisper to him. "Shh. It's going to be okay."

After all, he needs me to be strong for him, too.

"I have in my hands, the names of the two tributes." she's frowning. There's obviously something written that's troubling even her. "Oh my, they're from the same family!"

Time is slowing all around us. I can practically hear my own heartbeat, the blood rushing through my veins. Everyone in the square is dead silent, frozen, teetering on the edge of sanity.

Phipha's lips are moving, but it takes me a few seconds to comprehend what she's saying.

"Fredrick and Nicholas Travern."

_Jeff._

This is worse than having my own name called out.

My legs feel like they're about to collapse underneath me, my heart like it's on the verge of crashing through the walls of my chest, my head like it's about to explode. Nick's name. Loud and clear.

Nick. My Nick. The person I love more than anyone in the world.

It's the first time something clearly upsetting has happened and the boy beside me doesn't lash out. Doesn't try to kick, punch, attack the closest thing in the vicinity. He just lets go of my hand, as if he's been electrocuted. I watch, as if in slow motion, him and his brother walk towards the stage. He doesn't say anything to me, doesn't even look me in the eye.

I want to call out something to him. And as they reach the steps, I do.

"STOP!"

Hundreds of eyes are suddenly on me.

"Stop! No, no… I… I volunteer!"

Now people are gasping. Volunteers for the arena are rare in non-career Districts, there hasn't been one here for the last ten or so years.

And here I am. Doing it. I don't even know what comes over me, but I just know I have to be close to Nick. I rush forward towards him, grabbing his arm in desperation.

"Wh-what? Are you saying you're volunteering?" Phipha Mollins is struggling to comprehend the situation. "It is usually customary to…"

"I don't care!" my voice sounds as high-pitched as hers now. "I don't give a damn about what's customary, THIS is not… I… I volunteer."

"For who's place, exactly?"

I definitely haven't thought this through. My look travels to Nick by default, but his expression is full of pain. He's shaking his head. "Don't do this Jeffy… please… not you…"

It's killing me, but I ignore his barely audible plea, and look up at Phipha. I don't know what to say. If I went in place of Nick, I'd be saving him, and I love him more than anyone. But I'd also be up against Fredrick, I'd be sending him into the arena. I can't do that. He's too important to Nick.

If I go in place of Fred… my boyfriend is going into the Games.

But I can keep him safe. I can make sure he wins.

"Fredrick Travern." I announce, my voice cracking now.

Now the murmurs are starting. Because people know that Nick and I are dating. "Are you sure?" the escorts voice is saying.

"P-positive."

"Jeffrey!" it's the unmistakable shout of my Mother. Naturally, it's not a delirious outcry of sorrow or grief, it's just a stern call.

"Your name, please?"

"Je-Jeffrey M-Michaelson."

_Nick. _

"Please give a warm welcome to our Tributes - Nicholas Travern and Jeffrey Michaelson!"

We're standing on opposite ends of the stage, but as usual I can hear Jeff's thoughts clear as day. No doubt, he can hear mine too. Phipha Mollins is speaking, but her words are like white noise to me. I'm completely paralysed, because all I can think is, why? Why would Jeff do this? He was safe, he knows that's all I care about, that he's fine…

And he knows my brother is unable for the arena. He knows it would kill me. That's why he took Fredrick's place.

I look over at the tall blonde, even though it causes a great burst of pain in my chest, and I'm supposed to be looking at the people of my District. I can't let him die.

_Jeff._

I'm fidgeting the whole time Phipha speaks about the Quarter Quell. I really don't want to hear it. My fingers find the long, loose silver chain hanging around my neck. I know straight away this is the token from home I want to take into the arena.

It was Nick's. When we first got together, after a long time of loving each other, he'd taken off the necklace he always wore, with a blank dog tag hanging off the end. "This," he'd said, leaning forward and clasping it shut behind my neck. "Is yours. As a reminder that you're my one and only."

I'd taken the tag into my hand, and turned it over, delicately. Which was when I noticed the inscription. It must have been incredibly difficult for Nick to find someone who could press these words into it so perfectly._  
>Your Guardian Angel.<em>

They aren't just clichéd words. Although the allusive 'Modern Ages', as they're referred to in our History books, were completely destroyed, some scarps remain. Nick and I found lyrics. Words, to melodies, music. That's where they came from. A song we had discovered, which we believe to be called _Your Guardian Angel_.

So, the next day, I set off first thing in the morning to find someone who could print words on items, and found out that Mr. Blecker from down the road had a sort of machine that allowed him to do so. Where he'd gotten it from is unsure, and I didn't think to ask. I gave him all my savings, and in return, on my own bracelet, that's made of rare leather and ties together with black string, he pressed on the words_  
>Even if saving you sends me to heaven. <em>

Those words are just so damn appropriate now, aren't they?

When I presented it to Nick, he'd actually become teary eyed. So did I. And we held each other for hours, promising each other everything under the sun, and really the only thing that mattered. _I will love you until my dying day. _

Now, I'm looking over at him on the other side of the stage, and he's fiddling with the strings on his bracelet.

We have something that binds us together, no matter what happens in the arena.

**Next Time on The Hunger Games - Broken Arrows: Goodbyes are hard, especially if you're never coming back. **


	4. Reaping: The Opponents

_Authors Note: Sorry for the long wait - I've been busy with finals and making the most of the Summer Holidays - but here's a pretty long-ish chapter to make up for it. (Mind you, still not as long as I'd like them to be.) All of this, by the way, written in about two hours lying on a beach in Mallorca trying to stay out of the sun. Because that is how I spend my holidays. Avoiding sun. Safe to say being in a foreign country has given me a lot of needed inspiration to map out the arena both on paper and in my mind. I feel really sorry for our tributes._

**Four**

District 5:_  
>Jeff.<em>

It's strange to be in this position. Sure, I certainly imagined it every year in the days before each Reaping. My name being called out. Being escorted to the Justice Building. Having to say those tough goodbyes, to my parents, to Nick. But I never knew it was going to happen. The odds were always, always in my favour. And now, in my final year of eligibility for the games… I've volunteered to put myself through this. Volunteered to die, so that I can save someone I love.

Now that I think about it, if I have to be a part of a Games, I would want these to be my terms for doing so. Not be one of the poor, defenceless, innocent children chosen by the Capitol to be turned into killers, but someone who, without hesitation, would throw everything they had away to help the person they love the most.

Of course, I haven't saved him. Have I? I saved Fredrick. I saved his little brother from the arena, because I know it would kill Nick just as much, or even more, to watch him be brutally murdered on screen than stepping foot in the arena himself.

But I will get Nick out of there alive. I may not be around to see him live his life, but I'll know I'm dying so that he doesn't have to, so he can get out and win and receive his money and gifts from the Capitol, so his family wont ever be hungry again, so that our District will receive it's recognition, too.

When we were being escorted away from the stage in the square by Peacekeepers, he'd turned to me and asked why I'd done it. I told him I thought the answer to that was painfully obvious.

He'd nodded slowly, before his eyes flashed a certain way, sort of like they did when he got angry, but this was softer, more like… Sorrow? Pity? Upset? Fear? All of the above? And then he'd said; "But then how do you expect me to live without _you_?"

I know full well that if the situation were reversed, I'd feel the same as Nick. We've always been close, always been best friends, and now we're more than that, we're like one unit. But, the difference is, he has other people. He has his brother, and his Mother, who depend on having him around, who he loves. I only have my homophobic, judgemental, non affectionate parents who, quite frankly, I lost all respect for a long time ago. I don't have siblings, or friends. I'd shut myself off from them because they'd shut my Nick out, and I don't want anything to do with someone who judges him just because he can be a bit short tempered.

Which brings me back to the goodbyes; the speeches I'd worked out in my head year after year. A short one to my family, and a long one for my best friend turned boyfriend. My parents' stayed largely the same, but Nick's changed year by year as our relationship progressed.

But now we're both in the Games together, I have to fill up my allotted hour with Mummy and Daddy dearest.

That's going to be a challenge and a half.

Tapping my foot in impatience (although it could be mistaken for anticipation, or even nerves), I sit in the Justice Building, waiting for the Peacekeeper to send on in my obviously large and adoring fan base, tripping over each other to say goodbye to me. Oh, how right I am. The two people that enter the room look _full _of emotion.

"Jeffrey," my Father says, his voice strict and formal as ever. Somehow, I feel like this isn't the time to defy him or piss him off, but I do anyway.

"Flennward," I speak his embarrassing enough first name in the same tone, although he can tell I'm clearly mocking him. Mother of course, says nothing, just shakes her head in disappointment.

"Well, I suppose you want to get yourself killed, so there's not much use in going through the entire 'Please win and come back home' façade."

"Nope." I shrug my shoulders. "No use at all. Although I can guarantee, District Five will have a victor."

Mother gives a shrill laugh. "I'll hand it to your precious Nick, his condition was sure to come in handy eventually. Mind you, it's caused enough damage in our-"

"Shut up." I bang my fist on the nearest surface I can find, just to stop her from talking. "Shut up before you say something you'll seriously regret."

They aren't taking my threat seriously, and maybe I did sound too choked up to sound convincingly vicious. I'm going to have to work on that if I want to stay alive long enough to ensure Nick's win and safe return home.

Nevertheless, they don't say anything as the rest of the hour dwindles away painfully slowly. Then, as the Peacekeeper comes back in to bring them outside again, my Father walks straight out - but the other parent is at least decent enough to give me a curt nod before stalking out behind her husband.

"That went well." I say to myself, and the Peacekeeper gives me a strange look before closing the door, cutting me off from the hustle and bustle of District Five's town forever.

_Nick._

The only person who I've ever given any thought to regarding a goodbye speech is Jeff, so I'm not prepared for the swell of emotion as Mom and Fredrick appear in front of me, clearly in a state between hysteria and confusion.

"I don't understand," she's saying, I don't know if to herself or to me. "Why would they put both of you up for the Games… why did Jeff… oh, _Jeff_!" she seems to realize that at least one if not both of us are guaranteed goners, and a moan, disguised by a thick sob, escapes her throat.

I'm hard pressed at what to say, because everyone knows the only feeling I can accurately express is anger, rage, loathing. And love, around Jeff, and occasionally my brother, although that's disguised by my aggressive style of protectiveness. I do realize that Mom is waiting for an answer though, so I supply her with an unsure, mediocre, "It's okay… they had to choose someone… it just happened to be me, you know they don't particularly like…"

It doesn't dawn on me until I say it that my brother and I were chosen because we were disliked. Not because we have a chance, but because I have a tendency to blow up if someone brushes past me by accident, and because Fredrick is of no use at our trade, is just an unworthy extra mouth to feed.

Is this supposed to stop me from being angry? Get my emotions in check to try fight in the Games? Because quite frankly, the thought is making my blood boil with more white hot rage than ever before. Perhaps the Capitol did have some input in who the Districts chose as tributes this year. What a great Quell that would be, a mentally unstable 17 year old driven mad by fury in the arena to the point where he'd kill his own brother. Wouldn't the audience just lap that up?

Instead, they get to see two boys who are each others lifeline, being put against each other. They get to see a tragic love story.

The Capitol will thank Jeff for this. They just adore that type of thing.

"I'll make sure it isn't hard," I find myself whispering. Mom understands. She understands that I mean I wont make them watch me be mauled to death by a career.

Too many tears for me to handle follow, a few hugs from my shell-shocked brother, and then it's time for them to leave. I take one last look into their eyes as the door slams shut.

At least the Peacekeepers made sure there's nothing breakable in the room.

District Two:

_Quinn._

Really, the big surprise isn't my name being called out at the Reaping, that I happily take my place on the stage, waving and smiling to the crowd, promising them with my determined, shining green eyes that I'll bring it home for them. No, the strange thing is the male tribute - a handicapped boy in a wheelchair, whose place nobody seems to want to take. He's the only citizen of District Two minus functioning legs, so maybe they saw him as a weakness.

Well, he certainly will be in the Games. I don't know him, so I have no problem killing him. _One down already._

Some people may find it questionable that a girls own father would vote to send her into the arena, but those people generally aren't from a career District. The Games aren't something to run away from, the Games are something to embrace, to see as a chance to show how worthy you are. To show that you are worthy of being alive, of being revered by the Capitol. It's the greatest honour… and here I am. In a few weeks, maybe months, I'll be returning here, that much richer and that much more popular, a second Victor in the family. The Fabray's… oh, how we'll be talked about! My father will be beside himself, and even my Mother will be excited once she sees I'm safe, and then be able to celebrate with everyone else.

I find myself slipping off into a fantasy about my outfits, for the opening ceremony of the games, for my interview, for my crowning as Victor, for the Victory Tour… I don't realize how soon I'm being brought into the Justice Building, and my family comes in soon after, Mother, Father, my sister Frannie, her husband Calance.

There are no tears, only proud looks and encouraging words, one or two empowering hugs and then my hour is up. For a short time, there's quiet.

I don't allow the fear to creep in at the seams. Because I know I have weaknesses. But I ignore them, brush back my hair with my fingers, stand out of my chair, hands on my hips and, rather obnoxiously, declare that "I'm ready!"

_25__th__ Hunger Games, here I come._

District One:_  
>Santana.<em>

I eye my opponent with a humorous air about me. Noah Puckerman. How freakin' typical! Well, I'm going to have to form an alliance with him, no questions asked. I want him on my side, thank you very much. Besides, he does owe me. I did do him a favour, after all… I give him a small wave across the stage, my eyebrows raised, small smile playing on my lips. He gives a small nod in my direction, before facing the crowd again.

Jeninca Gregory is the most annoying woman I have ever had the displeasure of sharing a stage with. She speaks in an irritatingly high pitched voice, fast and excitable, every statement sounding like a question. At last she's finished speaking, and the crowd cheers for us, the tributes, the Quell, the Capitol.

I knew I'd be chosen, and I gave everyone who thought about volunteering a look that probably scared the life out of them more than anyone in the Games could, enough that they didn't think about taking Puckerman's place, either. Nobody would want to go up against me. I wouldn't want to go up against myself, either. anyone who crosses my path in the arena? They'll regret it.

I laugh to myself. Just kidding. They wont live long enough.

_Puck._

"And the male Tribute…"

I'm not really listening to Jeninca Gregory as she reads off the card, because I'm too busy eyeing up Santana Lopez. It would be her, wouldn't it? The girl who nobody ever wanted to cross in the streets, let alone in an arena where she's let loose to kill. In fact, I'm already betting on her.

"Noah Puckerman."

Oh. I don't know how I react visibly, but inside; the only thing flashing through my mind is Gracie. Thank god she's safe for another year, thank god it's me and not her. Too bad she's going to have to watch me be killed live on television.

That's the second thought that strikes me. I'm skilled, but in no way will I be able to evade Santana. I know the training she would have received from her father. I know full well she has no weaknesses.

Third thought. I should be moving up towards the stage.A quick march, throwing confident glances either side of me, I find myself actually smirking in a self righteous manor. Suddenly, I'm grateful for my subconscious realization I need to appear like a career Tribute, not some whimp of an easy target who'll be killed from the word go. The cameras will be on me every minute from now until I either die, or am crowned Victor.

District Six:  
><em>Blaine.<em>

The Reaping is mandatory for everyone to attend, even those over the age of eighteen whether they have family eligible for the Games or not. The fact these people may be dying or are too ill to stand without collapsing doesn't seem to concern the Capitol, so it's part of my duty to help them along to the centre square, because they usually have nobody else to take care of them. My Mom and sister are at the nursing station (also known as our living room), and Dad and I are cleaning up a particularly wounded teenager enough so he can attend the Reaping without bleeding to death.

The deep injuries gushing with blood all over the battered boy's bruised body make me think of the arena. If I was chosen for the Games, would I be able to clean myself up like this? Would I help a fellow tribute in need, or would I finish them off? I'm a healer, it's in my family, I fight death, ward it off from others. Of course we lose some. We lose a lot, but we save many, too. I don't want to inflict it.

And this is the moment I promise myself that I'll stay true to this. I'll help people, I wont kill unless it's absolutely necessary.

District Eleven:  
><em>Rachel.<em>

Confidence. Something I seem to naturally exude in everything I do (apart from working at the farms in our District, because despite the fact it's our trade and the by-products are what supplies the whole of Panem with food, I have a very strong sense of morality, and do not feel it's right to kill innocent animals and their offspring so that _we_ can survive - we wouldn't like it if they did that to us, would we? But it's the only way of surviving in the hunger-stricken world that we live in today, so I keep these thoughts to myself as much as I can and bear it.), and also a word often times found synonymous with strength, and bravery. But today, it's a hardship for me to even put on the front of a self-assured, optimistic and ready and bold soldier, which is what I will have to be for the Games if I'm chosen, if not for my own chances of survival then for my family watching at home, for my District.

I'm starting to think that if I make it through the next hour without breaking down, crumbling in on myself until I'm no more than a speck of dust on the asphalt that lines the edges of our town square, it will be an admirable feat. Never mind what the Capitol will do, when self destruction is just as big a threat to me right now.

In my mind, the Capitol will never be able to justify the Hunger Games to me - but the idea behind this Quarter Quell? Inhumane. Forcing people to choose which family member, friend, neighbour, acquaintance, student, to send to their almost certain death. I hear most Districts have adopted the same system we have here, and that's a council made up of five people (in our case, it's the Mayor, Harvard Savenslee, head of Agriculture, Lucian Mettle, the Headmistress at our school, Mrs Oriance, and our two head Peacekeepers, Garne and Quas), who, when the Quell was announced, were thrown together and held a meeting that every citizen not eligible for the Games was required to attend. We don't know what happened that night, and even if they were allowed to talk about it, most are too scarred from it anyway. All I know is that, after an excruciating five hours, the council was left with a list of fifty people, from which they had to choose two to be the official District Eleven Tributes.

The decision has been made now. We're standing in the town square, tense, on edge, waiting to hear the two names be read out from the slip of paper in Polivinia Bestar's hands. "The council has chosen a boy and a girl tribute."

Usually, this is tradition, but there are no rules against it this year, so she must have felt the need to clarify. "The female tribute… Rachel Barbra Berry."

**Next Time on The Hunger Games - Broken Arrows: We meet the remaining tributes, and find some of their weak spots as they give their heart wrenching goodbyes to family and friends before embarking on the one way train ride to The Capitol.**


	5. Reaping: Beginning Of Our Ends

****I missed this story so I uh, kinda started writing again? Hi?

**Five.**

District 12:

_Brittany._

Only at this time of year have I ever seen the town square so busy! Even at New Years, some people prefer to spend it indoors by their fire than listen to the Capitol's broadcast. But the Reaping is something every citizen of 12 has to attend. I'm not stupid. I know what The Hunger Games are. I see them on TV. I know they're dangerous. But I figure, the Capitol can't be that evil. They must be choosing these people for a reason. They must have done something bad. My parents shush me if I ever try to speak like this, so that must mean I'm either very right or very wrong. But Finn agrees. We speak in code, sometimes, like we do now a we stand in the crowd in front of the large podium, where we await the pretty, young woman from the city to choose the tributes.

"I think we're Lord Tubbington." I tell my tall best friend, smiling up at him. "And even if we aren't cat, you're so bear you could totally paw the other Lions."

"And you're so cat you're practically tiger." he returns the smile, looking a bit confused. He never really got to grips with our animal code.

One of the suited Peacekeepers announces that there is no need to section off by age and gender this year, and that we are to await Miriam Trinket in a calm, collected manor. I like this. I feel much more cat with Finn beside me. I look over my shoulder, seeing if I can spot my Dad to give a reassuring grin, but he's lost in the swarm of other parents, so I pull the green ribbon tighter into my waving blonde hair and turn back to Finn. "May the odds be ever in our favour!"

"I thought you didn't believe in the odds." he says, taken aback.

"I don't, but that's what the pink lady says." I clarify, talking about Miriam Trinket. Although every year she turns up in pretty different coloured outfits from the Capitol, she always has at least something pink with her. It's one of my favourite colours, too.

_Finn._

Sometimes I really don't think I'd make it through Reaping day on two feet if it wasn't for Brittany. She fascinates me. She's not stupid like some people might think; in fact she's smart. She's optimistic and she tries to make our dire situation here in 12 better for herself, her family and her friends. For me. I really admire her.

People start chattering, shifting, and I realise that Miriam Trinket has arrived on stage, noon on the dot. So very punctual, every year. At least, if I'm chosen today, I might learn some of those skills. But when would I put them to use, anyway?

"Welcome, District Twelve, to the first Quarter Quell!" that aloof Capitol accent is a very strange sound to the ears of our citizens. Nobody here speaks like that. It's almost like she puts it on to be as silly as possible, possibly to match her pink and orange hair that's held in the air in the shape of a blooming flower, and the clashing aqua outfit with the puffy sleeves, collar and shapely chest. The gold-laced boots are what seems to have captured Brittany's attention, and I can't say I blame her. As ridiculous as Miriam Trinket's outfit is, her footwear is an exquisite, blinding blend of silver and gold, the sunlight reflecting a spectrum of rainbow like colours dancing off the metal clasps. "So pretty," the blonde whispers, and I smile at her, nodding. Another thing I love about Brittany, she can find beauty anywhere.

"You, the citizens of District Twelve, have chosen a male and female tribute! Ladies first!"

_Brittany_

I tear my eyes away from the sparkling colours to watch her equally made-up nails tear open a Capitol-issued envelope, with **Tribute 23 - 12 - Girl **printed upon it. And then she's reading the name in a sing song voice that's so different to what I hear on the markets, on the street, in school and at home that I don't realise what she's saying until all eyes are on me.

"What?" I mumble. Because she didn't just say Brittany Susan Pierce. Surely, she didn't. I've been a good girl, a good student, I've been nice and haven't done anything to upset anyone here in 12 or in the Capitol. "Finn, what did she-" but I can't finish my question, I feel a firm, almost painful grip on my arms as two Peacekeepers haul me over to the stage, through the crowd, my feet dragging against the ground because my mind can't make sense of what I'm supposed to be doing. I'm given a firm push in the direction to the right of Miriam Trinket, and my legs start working, but I'm not sure how long I'll be able to stand on them. I don't know how long I'm there for, not sure what's happening when Finn comes up to stand beside me. "What are you doing here?" I say. I'm not supposed to speak, Miriam Trinket shoots me a look of utmost confusion and exasperation.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, your Tributes! Brittany Pierce and Finn Hudson!"

District Six:

_Blaine._

I should have prepared myself. I know it now, as I walk up to that stage in a daze, that I shouldn't have taken my safety for granted. I'm not the most valued medical apprentice in Six, after all. I'm one of many. Head of Medical Staff was on the committee that decided the tributes. We had a dispute, not so long ago. I should have at least prepared myself for this moment. But Javen Bertsbach never seemed like a vindictive man. One thing. One little argument over a patient, that was hardly grounds to send me into the arena. It can't just have been him. Who else was there? I scan the crowd that's now in front of me, somehow I'm standing on the stage, the second tribute, and realise there's no point trying to work out who put me here. Because I am here, on my way to certain death. My family, my friends, my patients, my work, are all things I'm about to leave behind. A violent end for the boy who spent his whole life trying to heal people. A death sentence for the boy who saves lives. The healer fighting for his own life. The one who saves lives, now has to take lives.

The Capitol loves a bit of irony. They must have wanted it like this. It was always going to be one of us. Whether it was me, or Chess or Friel or Hammy or any of the other medical students. I catch the eye of a woman in the crowd, holding two babies. They were my latest patients. Cassia and Lucia, conjoined twins and their mother, Farina. I assisted in their delivery. And then I notice my fellow tribute. Farina's other daughter, Harmony. And it's cruel, it's cruel, so cruel, but it's happening, and I look to the brunette girl in a moment of desperation, and her blue eyes catch my hazel, and she nods at me. She's thinking it too, we're all thinking it. As I return the nod, it's like we've made an unspoken pact, exactly what I had promised myself a few minutes ago. I will never take a life.

District Eight:

_Kurt._

All I can think about is blood stains. How to remove them from different fabrics. My aunt does the laundry and dry cleaning for people around town, and sometimes I help her. Earn my keep when I'm not needed at the factory. A Peacekeepers uniform is easier to rid of the stuff than a mattress. But either way, the stain can be permanent if not worked at quick enough. There's always going to be a mark. A scar. Blood shed is hard to forget. I wonder how much blood we pump around our bodies on a daily basis. What that would look like, staining clothes, a mattress, the concrete. My blood, flowing through the arena, a savage death, aired live on television. I wish I could bleed out right now. I'd rather die on this stage than let the Capitol use me as a part of their games. I don't want to have to go through the pain of having to say goodbye to my father, who still has the small bit of hope that there's a one in twenty-four chance of me returning. But I know better. The moment I stepped up on this stage, I knew better. The odds don't work like that in The Hunger Games. They never did.

I've never been inside the Justice Building before. Irony. The Justice Building. This doesn't sound like Justice to me.

**Next Time on The Hunger Games - Broken Arrows: It's time to make your way to the Capitol, Tributes! But beware, the danger starts well before you enter the Arena...**


End file.
